Glance
by lola-write-hand
Summary: Her glance said everything. And at that moment, that sliver of time that he could call life, he found that her lack of words formed a sentence, a speech that extended from the end of his life and through it again. They were protectors, but of what?
1. I

_"We are who we must be. It is not in some of us, it is in all of us. Time is of the essense- it slows for none other than God. Leave it to that, and we will become who we will become."_

-_Margaret Pelphry_

****4815162342****

"Bea."

Bea Klugh looked up from her tidy desk to Sister Lorraine, who hulked miles above her meager station. Pasting on a smile to match her kind eyes, the young woman responded with a soft discliplined tone. "Yes, Sister?"

"Mother Kwoaart will see you. She has been waiting." Sister Lorraine offered Bea a hasty nod of the head, and slid out the great wooden door of the Abbey. A small trace of a smile played across the Bea's face- barely twenty-two, she leaned her slight frame on the desk and took a deep breath. Spinning around, she gracefully tapped over to the crucifix hanging over her wall, and fell on her knees with a premeditated poise. She prayed for a moment, and rose, seeing Mother Kwoaart at the door.

"Mother." Bea said calmly, rising her eyes to the manager of the Abbey. Mother Kwoaart's face twisted in a sort of melancholy smile, as she closed the door behind her.

"Beatrice- do you mind if I sit?" She motioned to the small chair that was still warm with hours of study in it's frame. Bea shook her head, and sat on her lumpy made bed, curiosity storming in quiet eyes. Mother Kwoaart folded her paper white hands and said a quick prayer in the same foreign tongue Bea had heard since her first day in this Soviet land.

"Beatrice Klugh. I saw you- and I knew you were born a nun. There was no other purpose but a nun- to be devoted, until death." The Abbey loosened her black collar that crept up her neck and shuddered. "You...have proved one of the most promising postulates this Abbey has ever seen. You have shown us all that race is not a factor in the eyes of God."

Bea's lips rose to the corner of her face, and then retreated back again, a rare sight. Mother Kwoaart reached for her hand. "But things have become too dangerous here. The Soviet soldiers come close at every turn." Her smile faded. "They hate us, Beatrice. They harbor hate in thier heart and it turns cold. Like this whole war- it is cold, frigid as the mighty mountains from where we came."

She was being dismissed. Bea tried to find the words in Mother Koaart's eyes, but could only find truth. It was the truth- she had been devoted since day one, in prayer and fast more than any other new coming postulate.

"When do you want me to leave?" The words left her lips before she could think them. Mother Koaart dabbed at her reddining face. "Forgive me." She said in Russian, her tears filling out over her eyes. "The sooner you leave, the better. I want you safe, Bea. You're going to make something one day. I don't want you victim of this cruel war."

"No." Bea started, trying to stay stoic. But she could feel her throat throbbing with the pain of it all. Her accomplishments were tossed at her feet- as Mother Koaart turned to walk out the door, she could feel the sob in her chest rise to meet her eyes. She sat on the floor and quietly wept, sliding off her postulate's cap over her dark glistening hair.

In two minutes, she had folded up her postulate's gown, prayed, and gathered her papers neatly, leaving a folded note on her bed for the other postulates. They needed to know she was safe from harm- or at least, could be.

*******

It was raining by the time Bea had left the Abbey. Thick, freezing puddles formed in the potholes of the road she traveled down. She slopped her hair to the side and shuffled along the unpaved alleys of the poverty-rich village. The same people, white and cold with inky black hair, looked her up and down with antagonizing eyes. She slipped inside the small chapel at the end of the town and sat down on one of the pews, her attention poised to the sounds of rain, like bullets falling down on the metal church.

She knew the sound of bullets all too well.

"Are you alright, sister?" The words rang out suddenly. Bea's eyes widened as she looked up to see the priest, arms outstretched across the altar. His eyes widened seeing her- they must have been the only two darks in all of Ukraine. Seeing him, Bea took a step forward. And then another one. With each step, her eyes filled quietly to the brim with tears, until she embraced the stranger with weary arms. She then sat on the hard pews and told the priest her life. When she was finished, he merely brushed a wet strand of hair from her face and grinned.

"There is nothing worse than what you have endured." He said. "So why do you cry?"

Bea said nothing, her eyes pasted to the floor in shame. "What is your....name, father?"

"A father goes by many names- you may call me Father Eko."

Bea nodded. Father Eko let out a hearty laugh and tilted his head with curiosity. "You must be cold, Sister Beatrice."

"I am."

"I'll get you a towel or two- you can dry off-"

"A towel won't help." Bea interupted. Father Eko nodded in a second of silence.

"One of the Nuns from up the way can show you to a room. You may stay there as long as you like until you arrange plans."

"I'd rather wait until this war is over." Bea said solomnly, twisting her hands in impatience.

"There's no use waiting for wars to end, Sister. But it doesn't hurt to join the fight." Father Eko offered her a kind smile and dissapeared behind the doors of the church. Bea called him back.

"Father Eko?" She asked. Brisk heavy footsteps followed and the man returned. Bea hesitated, but pressed on. "Is this- your church home? Because--if--if it is, then it's very strange, don't you think?"

Father Eko grinned. "I am visiting a fellow Brother. I watch over a flock in Nigeria." With that he turned away and left Beatrice Klugh.

****4815162342****

"Time."

"Fourteen Hundred hours."

"Place?"

"Classified."

"Place?" The computer's monotone voice struck again, as Mikhail Bakunin worked steadily at the copper cords hanging above the computer.

"Eh...." He struggled with his English for a moment, and then answered in Russian. "Outside of--Kiev. Ukraine."

"Access Granted." A buzz resounded over the HAM radio and the young man dabbed his sweaty brow with his shirt sleeve. Nailed to the wall was a gauge of C4 Explosive, grinning fatally in cyrillic warning labels posted all over the small accessory. A voice rang in on the radio, and Mikhail abandoned his work, snapping one bright chord and interchanging it with another. He slid the heavy cedar bookshelf in front of it, and collapsed into a chair.

"Mikhail." The voice sounded in, loud and fuzzy in the waves. "Over."

Mikhail reached for the reciever, caught his breath, and spoke. "Yes, General?"

A long pause lingered on the other end. Finally, the sound of screeching orders nipped out, and the General was on the line.

"Bakunin....You've got that C4 ready?"

"Yes." It was a harsh answer, as frigid as the wind howling at the door of the meetinghouse.

"Good. Get out of there. We move at sixteen hundred hours."

"Yes, Sir." Mikhail added, slamming down the reciever quickly and pulling the chord from the wall. He grimaced at the explosives hidden behind the bookshelf. This didn't make sense. A small village in Kiev had no reason to be literally bombed by this Soviet force. Not here. It made no sense.

And yet, it did. He had overheard plans of invasion in the area, rebellion. In many ways it made no sense to do this to these people. Here, and now- in such times. He stepped out into the frigid November, shutting the door tight to the meeting house. The Serbian governor was already driving up, doomed to be in this exact spot at Sixteen Hundred hours. Mikhail took a deep breath and began along the road, waiting for the getaway car to subtly slice him away. Taking one last glance at the villlage that reminded him horrifically of home, he glanced down the winding road.

It would be warmer in Afganistan.

*******

"Take me to Nigeria." Were the first words on Bea's lips as a plate of vegetables was set in front of her. The old nun, mother of the village church, tilted her head to Father Eko, who pursed his lips in arising conflict.

"No."

"And why not?" Bea's mouth crinkled into a frown, but the joyful expression of a smile still played across her eyes. Eko laughed.

"You are eager. You will go far." He took a spoonful of soup and frowned. "But- Nigeria is much more dangerous than it is here."

Bea's left eyebrow climbed up her forehead in surprise. She had thought she dwelled in the most dangerous place on earth. She looked outside at the falling snow. The Nun and Father Eko exchanged quick glances, both standing up.

"You ought to take a walk, Bea. The Serbian Governor is in town tonight."

"Doubt he'd want to see me."

Eko's lips turned up into a faint withered smile. Bea took another glance at him and nodded.

By the time she had begun her way to the meetinghouse, snow had already began to settle on the ground. She stood out blatantly in the snow, seemingly misplaced. Children ran gaily along the potholed sidewalks, eager to catch the white drizzle before it melted away and night came. The world was in trouble here- yet there was a dull sense of peace- amongst the violence-filled nights in these slums, there lay weary bonds beneath it all, like spring blooms beneath the snow. She had never seen anything like it. At the Abbey, all eyes were on God. There seemed no inner fellowship between the nuns, no sisterhood. Only single strikes of lightning in the storm. And no thunder.

The flashing lights of the cameras blinded her as she walked up to the crowd of press, falling forward towards the armored limo that fell in from the slumping drive. Glimpses of heavily armed men hid the Serbian governor, who stepped outside the limo and into the grey meetinghouse. A few moments passed by- some members of the press were allowed inside, others were turned away; they flew into thier city cars and drove, each in competition with the other, until the tire tracks in the road had been covered with a fresh layer of snow.

And then fire. Sirens. Noise. Hell opened up and the world fell away as Bea heard the sounds, seeing the fire spring up into the sky and then dive down towards her, knocking her to darkness.

*******

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you read it, review it! Hope you like :] **

**Chapter two up soon (if people review!)**


	2. II

II.

"Took a heavy fall there, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

Voices mingled around a cold room as Bea opened her eyes. She heard the clicks of a heart monitoring device somewhere in the distance, and shut herself back into the darkness. A figure hovered dark above the blinding light and spoke.

"Are you alright, Ms. Klugh?"

"Neit." She said at once, finding a bearing in the room. She was alone. Tilting her head upward, a wave of nausea hit her, tumbling her backwards on to the platform where she lay.

"You could have been killed." The voice said, carrying a soothing softness with it. The sound of stretching latex made her cringe.

"Who are you?"

"That is the mighty question." The light fell back onto the place of Richard Alpert.

"Richard--? I thought-"

"Mikhail? He's still gone, Bea."

Bea's heart sunk silently into her chest. She sat up in the dharma station, blinking around. "What happened?" She finally asked, leaning to him as thought provoked it to be an intimate secret.

"The survivors, Bea. One of them got to you before we could." Richard gave her one of his looks. It was nestled somewhere between concern and question.

"Hugo?"

"No, Bea, what difference does it make?"

"I want to know who almost killed me out on that dock!" The words shattered through the room. At once, Bea shut her eyes, folding back into the silent conversion of herself. She raised eyes at Richard. "Who was it?"

"Kate."

"Hm." Kate. The angry one. It made sense. Ms. Austen had given her many looks on the way to the docks. It made perfect timing, in a way. Had they been any sooner in thier quest, the survivors may have had a stronghold.

'She know's your beard's fake, Tom.' She had said. Tom gave her a grimace. 'Thanks for telling them my name, Bea.'

And then, nothing. She remembered hands, flailing arms, and then murmuring- over what, she was unsure. Then, a boat sped away somewhere in the distance. She could smell the salt of the ocean creeping up past the halfdecayed boards of the dock. High tide was rolling in, and they had to move fast. A heavy trunk of an arm folded around her waist, carrying her sluggishly into the jungle, and her conscience fell away.

"Don't worry, we've got them now." Richard said, and Bea blinked her eyes, sore from the bright light of the room. "The flame." She said suddenly, with obvious epiphany.

"What about it?" Colleen asked, something menacing in her eyes. "No one goes there anymore."

"It's our only source of communication with the mainland." Bea pressed. "Have you ever realized how close it is to 815's camp? It's a mile from the beach, at least."

"What are you trying to say?" Richard inquired, taking a seat with all seriousness.

"What I'm saying, Richard is that--someone ought to be checking on it, don't you think? If the survivors ever-"

"They wouldn't." Danny said suddenly, feircely.

"You underestimate them."

"Oh?" Colleen began. "I think not. We've got their best at the Hydra. You warned the fat one yourself."

"I did?" The memories came pouring back as she remembered. Hugo. Harsh words. It seemed a lifetime away, yet she could believe it had only happened a mere hour ago.

"I want to make sure no one is closing on the barriers."

"Bea, I appreciate your concern, but--" A mysterious smile stretched across Richard's youthful face. "I seriously doubt that anyone could find the Flame."

Bea gave him a full-witted smile. "I've been to the Flame, Richard. I know. If the survivors ever found it- they could easily-"

"The flame is the last thing on our minds." Colleen stated, starting out the door, Danny quickly behind her.

She gathered her wits and spoke again, grasping at her wrists as though they had been bound, but were now free.

"Then let me go." She could feel the invisible binds as she looked up to see Robert close, Danny looking her up and down with a general dislike, and Colleen, striking her at every angle with ice stares.

It made her think of Kiev again.

**4815162342**

"You are to be stationed in Kabul three weeks from today. Afterwards, you will proceed onto the conflict, which will immediately-"

The door of the recruitment office opened, and a sweaty-faced officer stormed in.

"Bakunin. Now." The officer fixed a stare on Mikhail, picked the young man up onto his feet, and whipped him out the door of the office. The dim glow of lights set along a path in the distance, and the Officer shuddered.

"It's the villagers, coming for my monster." He said quietly, taking a glance at the young man who still carried the pliers he had jockeyed the C4 with in his back pocket.

"Officer, it is impossible that they-"

"They have no idea, Bakunin. Go out there to meet them. Tell them that you are the only doctor this soviet station has." He offered Mikhail an authoritive smile. "They'll welcome you like a hero, to bury thier dead and fix thier wounds."

"I'm....not a doctor, sir." Mikhail began, but the officer thumped him on the back, and then pressed him outside into the cold spring air. He leaned on the concrete blocks of the station, wating. Waiting was such a horrible thing. It was death, postponed. Life in detour. And as the glow crept down the valley and up, closer to the station, Mikhail Bakunin had to wait, finding a backstory behind it all- finding a way to fix the cuts he had inflicted and bury the ones he had killed.


	3. III

III.

Bea Klugh woke up to the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance. With each resonation, the sliver hand moved with a slow, steady effort.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She could feel a strip of gauze wrapped around her head. Struggling to sit up, she let out a pained breath and settled on the crisp white sheets instead, focusing on the sooty fan rotating lazily overhead. She shut her eyes tight, trying to remember where she was.

Kiev. Of course. Unless...

Her eyes burst open at the sound of rickety wheels skidding down the long hallway outside. For a split second, she imagined that she was dead. A shot of pain up her arm convinced her otherwise. A nurse, clad in a red cap and white dress, wheeled by with a cart. Something was under it- something pale blue, sticking out from under the white sheets.

A hand?

She cut her breath in half and shut her eyes again. She was convinced she was alive. The black contrast of her evening window hinted nothing of her location. Steady footsteps settled in her ears, and before she knew it she was looking face to face with a young soviet doctor.

The young soviet doctor.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, placing a pair of bifocals on the bridge of his nose.

Bea stuttered. "It was- the"

"What's wrong?" He asked again. Bea knew he wasn't a doctor. His words flowed frigid, lacking any thought or warmth behind them.

"Nothing."

The young doctor scrunched up his handsome face and stood. He uttered something unintelligable to the nurse, who glanced at Bea and nodded, a sneer crossing over from his face to hers.

**4815162342**

"Mikhail? Come in Mikhail!" The voice of Benjamin Linus buzzed over the radio. Mikhail ignored the command, typing out the 10 number combination on the computer. The sullen face of Dr. Marvin Candle appeared on the screen, giving out the same instructions.

"For mainland communication-"

"Mikhail, pick up." Ben's voice continued. "I know you're there."

"Enter 54."

"I need you to get on Burke's personal file. An associate is looking over her sister. Open the communications."

Mikhail took the command in for a second, and then briskly typed '54' on the computer.

"Good. Now get down here. That's an order." The voice buzzed out, and Mikhail stood from where he was. He paced to the makeshift living room, where, out the wide doors of the station, a column of smoke rose near the beach.

"What....?" He murmured in Russian, but not before noticing the sun, dipping lower into the sky.

Time is what he needed.

**

"I need detailed profiles on every single passenger onboard." Mikhail heard Ben toss the command over his shoulder.

"I'm already on it."

"Rom and Goodwin are already out on the crash site, and if I'm to inform them of anything-"

"I said, I was on it." Mikhail uttered coldly for a second time. He could feel the silence resonate through Ben and the fertility specialist who hovered above his shoulder, his personal angel and devil. Tears still shone in her eyes, from the minute her sister appeared on the dusty screen, swinging some stranger's child who he did not know and never would.

His thoughts were on Bea. They always seemed to gravitate back to her. He had casually asked Ben of the other's conditions after the crash. With deceptive eyes, Ben gave him nothing to worry about- but nothing to take comfort in either, as far as he was concerned.

A plane in the sky was the least of his worries.

******************

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Please review, people! It is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY! See that little button down there? It says 'review'. Push it. Good, very good. Now type. One word. Preferably, more than that, but write whatever floats your boat. A writer relies on reviews like a baby relies on formula-----now REVIEW! Take a minute of your time to make a day of mine.

thanks!

lola


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